


The day the music died

by CruelisnotMason



Series: Happy & humorous sheith fics [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Clubbing, Comfort, Fluff, Gay Bar, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Keith (Voltron), Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), Post-War, pre-kerberos memories, vlds8 doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CruelisnotMason/pseuds/CruelisnotMason
Summary: In the darkness of the night behind a shady club, he is still the brightest star, or more like the burning sun. Too hot to be able to get close, Keith thinks, and regrets it immediately.





	The day the music died

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks [@museaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway) for beta-ing this fic!
> 
> I swear this fic had a whole other title and instead of silly club grinding it became this. Please don't be mad lol

Whenever the door opens and the loud bass drops on the inside, Keith gets an audible whiff of it blasting through the opening. He and Shiro are currently standing outside together with a surprisingly big amount of people in line. The frantic lighting in every color of the rainbow spreads thinly through the door slit, disappearing and leaving them standing in the darkness again. Next to them stand a few others, noticing and trying to peek inside; but Keith is more focused on the vivid colors lighting Shiro’s face and reflecting on his starlight-colored hair than on what’s going on inside.

Tonight is special because for the first time in forever, Shiro decided during lunch break to take his mind off work for one (!) night and take the following day off. Hunk had asked him if he was getting sick, but Shiro simply replied that it has been a while since he fell asleep in his own bed and not at his desk. Hunk had replied with an “Oh, dude” and a saddened grimace followed by him shoving a package of home-made cookies into Shiro’s hands. Keith knew Hunk had made them for himself and maybe someone else he'd met at the Garrison. He was just a really sweet guy.

But Keith’s brain only managed to focus on Hunk and his good heart for a mere second before the gears started turning again and he took the chance that presented itself.

It was a good choice. When he glances to his side, Shiro looks back to him. The smile Shiro gives him is tender and private. In the darkness of the night behind a shady club, he is still the brightest star, or more like the burning sun. Too hot to be able to get close, Keith thinks, and regrets it immediately.

Shiro wears a new but rather simple grey shirt. It doesn’t matter that it’s nothing fancy. The fabric stretches over his chest in all the right ways, and the sleeves are snug, showing off his biceps. It doesn’t help that he wears black pants. Keith can’t stop his eyes from looking and wonders how it’s possible he hasn’t started drooling yet. He’s glad that of the undeniable characteristics he shares with his space wolf (loner, dark hair and sad when left alone), drooling is not among them.

Keith swears that if he wasn’t used to seeing Shiro in a skintight uniform daily over the past few weeks and since their return from the war, he’d had even bigger issues taking his eyes off Shiro's defined pecs now that they are visible beneath the cloth. Or off of the dark pants hugging his legs. Or the place the uniform would usually hide, right between his—

“It’s good that it’s so hot tonight,” Shiro interrupts Keith’s downward spiral of a trail of thought. “I’m glad I didn’t bring a jacket.”

Keith thinks of Shiro’s favorite leather jacket and how, back then, it used to fit his acutely disciplined gym-trained body. He hums in agreement, afraid that what will come out of his mouth is a coarse moan, which is beyond explainable. Shiro doesn’t seem to mind his wordlessness, only smiles and softly bumps into him. It’s a gesture that, despite being very much neutral, sometimes keeps Keith up thinking all night.

He needs to cut it out. Tonight is not the night to get horribly bothered before he has said two words to Shiro. Tonight is their night, _friendship_ night, Shiro’s night. Keith thinks he deserves it.

Shiro’s outer appearance aside, Keith notes that he looks and talks like he’s genuinely happy to hang out with Keith after work (which they have been doing occasionally for the past weeks) and it makes Keith’s heart flutter more than he’d like to admit. War has taken a toll on them and it’s a sheer wonder (and through the help of certified trauma-therapists) that they stand here now, alive and healthy. Shiro’s eyes shine bright as he waits in line right next to Keith with his unnecessarily broad shoulders, making him stand out from everyone else. Keith enjoys not being expected to say anything, so when Shiro starts talking about his day, about paperwork, an upcoming mission to Mars, about his plans to take Slav with him and accidentally leave him there…

Keith could listen to him like that forever.

Especially when Shiro is letting loose, when he jokes and when he’s sarcastic, happy when Keith responds with a laugh.

“I’m curious,” Shiro tells him. “You’ve been pretty excited for this.”

They’re close enough to the music now that Keith can barely hear Shiro just a foot away. They both take one step closer to the door, then move a little closer to each other. “It’s a good thing they started building this club here in the desert,” Shiro states and doesn’t offer an explanation first. It gradually becomes harder to understand each other without shouting over the quick beat of the bass, which means that they are about to enter the club. Shiro has his wallet out and a few dollars in his hands before Keith can even think about it, and pays for both their entrance fees. They wait patiently for the required stamp on the back of their hands that grants them multiple entries. Keith fights down the red that crawls up his cheeks and casually thanks Shiro for paying.

A few steps through the big main gate of the club, Shiro looks around in awe. His gaze is unhidden, taking it all in. Keith stands next to him, waiting.

“What did you mean earlier?” he asks.

“Hm?”

“About the club.”

Shiro looks at him from the side. “Ah! Yes,” he says. “It’s just that no surveyor wants to travel all the way out here and check if everything’s according to regulations.”

Keith brushes his hair back as they both turn forward again and step further inside. Keith hums to what Shiro said and almost forgets that the music is too loud for him to understand. “So you think they're breaking a few rules by building this club here?”

“I think,” Shiro starts and turns his head to Keith, wearing that irresistible smile on his face that tends to make Keith's knees as weak as jelly, “that they meet _anything_ but legal requirements for this club. And they can pull it off because nobody wants to come out here.”

“Hypothetically speaking,” Keith starts as they walk down a narrow black corridor, closing in on the loud music, “as employees of the Garrison and therefore as state employees… do we need to do something about that?”

In the darkness of the corridor, Keith feels Shiro’s gaze on him. It makes his skin crawl and his head light. A shudder runs over his back and his throat tightens. Sometimes, it’s just like that, but Keith thinks there’s really something wrong with him. It’s gotten worse recently. No matter how much he thinks about it, he cannot place the emotion behind Shiro’s looks anymore.

Sometimes Keith tricks himself into thinking that it was easier when they were younger and their relationship was clear, when in reality it was also a source of an ongoing series of heartbreaks upon realizing what Shiro meant to him.

The only thing that got easier was accepting this side of himself along the way, picking his broken heart up and putting it back in place. Nothing is as important as Shiro’s happiness, and nothing is more frightening than the possible disappointment if Shiro ever got a glimpse of Keith's feelings.

He thinks.

But in situations where they are alone and in a limited space, right next to each other, Keith can (thanks to his Galra genes) zone in on the contrast between Shiro’s rapidly beating heart and the force behind his calm breathing. Keith just stops understanding anything.

“Isn’t it bad to say nothing?” Keith says, voice a rasp. Suddenly, bringing Shiro here doesn’t seem such a good idea anymore. Keith doesn’t want to jeopardize him.

But Shiro’s laugh is low in response, lightening him up like a fire.

“Not telling isn’t as bad as lying,” he explains to Keith and smiles. “What the Garrison doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

Keith gulps and gives no visible reaction. Too true of a sentence. Because of a lack of reaction from Keith, Shiro moves in front of him all of a sudden, making them both stop at the end of the corridor right before the curtains. Shiro looks down at him, looking like he wants to say something else, but doesn’t. Keith stares at his face and at the mischievous grin that makes him look five years younger, and slowly recovers from the feeling of dread in his stomach.

“Damn,” Keith breathes, eyes wandering all over Shiro’s face, every wrinkle, every detail. “The Admiral, _everyone_. Breaking the rules again.” Despite his words, Keith’s lips curl up into a daring, playful smile. He folds his arms in front of his body, cocks his hip slightly. His playful gaze meets Shiro’s wondering expression, but it quickly morphs into a warm one. There’s an electricity behind the way they look at each other, even in the dark when Shiro’s features are almost invisible. There’s only one step between them, but Keith doesn’t take it, he just doesn’t dare; he can be as playful and as flirty as he wants, but he isn’t poised to make a move. He isn’t pushing their friendship over the cliff. He isn’t suicidal with the things that took long to get established.

Shiro doesn’t take it either—maybe he doesn’t want to—but he holds Keith's gaze and chuckles lowly. “And the leader of Team Voltron right there next to him, _bending_ _rules_, as I like to call it.”

Keith is about to make a witty comeback, but suddenly the dark red curtains are pulled away and taint them in rays of unnatural club light, startling them both. Four drunk guys squeeze past on their way out of the main room into the corridor. They aren’t rowdy, but they are quick and didn’t expect people standing in the darkness, so Shiro slightly presses against Keith to let them through. It’s an almost hug, Keith thinks, and stares down at his feet—or tries to. His sight is blocked by Shiro’s slowly heaving chest. He doesn’t want to leave his face out in the open with Shiro’s body pressing against him like this, and he’s unsure if the warmth won’t burn his face and wreck his heart. When the men are gone, Shiro misses the cue to move. Keith can’t see what he’s doing there, just stands against him until Shiro finally pulls the curtains back and enters the main room of the club without a look back.

After a few seconds, Keith collects himself and follows.

The first part of the main room is a cozy bar; there are some tables, chairs, and a few relaxed people around, and the music isn’t as loud as in the back. The club doesn’t differ immensely from other clubs that existed pre-invasion, aside from the many aliens hanging around, sipping on drinks and chatting. There are two female-looking aliens with blue and green skin talking over a shared drink; there’s the barkeeper, an Unilu woman with countless tattoos on all of her arms pouring what looks like beer into a big pitcher, then two guys of an alien species that neither Shiro or Keith has met yet, lurking at the side, their eyes turning back and forth, closing and opening like a reptile’s.

“You don’t get to be in here without an alien partner, or, uh, friend. There must be one alien to accompany any group of humans or they don’t get in,” Keith explains, before Shiro can ask. Aliens on Earth became a rather normal in a short amount of time, but compared to the human race, there aren’t as many and usually scattered in small groups only.

“Well.” Shiro sniggers, eyes lit up in delight. “I consider myself lucky to be invited here.”

For once Keith feels proud: For years it felt like an impossibility for him, an angry kid with alien heritage, to get him and Shiro somewhere instead of excluding them from something, or worse, bring them both troubles. It’s only a dumb, slightly exclusive club, not even that special, but he still got them both in and the guy at the front even remembered him.

“You should feel lucky.” Keith’s voice sounds daring and unlike him, but this is a one-time chance to boast a little.

“Yeah?” Shiro chuckles and bumps into him slightly, playfully.

Keith is close to taking it back and saying it was just a joke; but then, he breathes a simple, confident, “Yeah.”

Shiro doesn’t make fun of him, doesn’t ridicule him, just wears a smile as wide as usual and tells him, “Thanks for bringing me here.”

They walk around a bit. It’s not Keith’s first time here and he leads the way confidently. It’s been emptier when he came here before. Tonight it's hard to move through the groups of people. Two times he takes Shiro by the hand so they don’t get lost; Shiro lets himself be guided back to the bar and doesn’t make any efforts to let go of Keith.

They sit down at the bar and Shiro orders two bottles of an overpriced Nunvill-beer mix beverage, which he’s surprisingly fond of. Keith takes two sips and already wants to drop it into the next sewer. The seats to the right and left of them are empty, the music quiet enough to talk, so they sit a while, just looking around at the people streaming in, talking and dancing. The different rooms (the bar, the dance floors) are connected, so they have a good view on the people moving to what sounds like Olkari Techno.

“Thanks for coming with me.” Keith eyes his beer-mix and pushes it a little further away.

“Sure,” Shiro replies and nips at his bottle. “I’m glad we’re doing something together. It's been a while since the last time.”

“Yeah,” Keith breathes and holds it in.

“I really want to see you more,” Shiro confesses. He doesn’t try to disguise his words and they openly fall from his lips, undisguised in their meaning. Keith looks at him, eyes wide and Shiro returns the look, a flicker of realization flashing in his eyes before he quickly casts them to the ground.

“Since you’re my family,” he adds and takes another sip, looking in another direction. Keith stares at his own hand, the words hollow in his ears. Shiro said it with so much fondness that Keith is able to ignore the drop in his stomach and the tightening of his throat. _Family_, he thinks and nods to himself. It’s not too bad.

If it wasn’t for Shiro calling this thing between them ‘family’ a whole lot recently, Keith could easily ignore it. Or just take it as a compliment. He thinks of all the Paladins as his family. Family is what Lance is to Allura and vice versa. And they are dating – it’s just the way to say they are close to each other. But something tells Keith that that’s not the same way Shiro tells him they are ‘family’.

Keith would like to know what it means to Shiro, what _he_ means to Shiro, but it’s too much to ask.

As if to take the heaviness from his words, Shiro looks around them, taking in the people who are dancing, chatting or drinking. Keith stares at him, at how the light reflects from his bright hair in all colors, how the small moving points glitter in his eyes. These days Keith can barely hold himself back from touching Shiro, as if he’s living in fever dreams that make him all hot and dizzy. He only gets that way from watching him.

“So, party-you,” Shiro starts out of nowhere. “Is that the new you?” Keith almost chokes on his nunvill-beer (why is he even still drinking it?), coughs and laughs at the same time.

“Hardly,” he replies and grins at Shiro, eyes bright and teeth flashing.

Shiro grins back, shrugs. “I kind of thought you already were. I mean, a party-person.”

“Shiro,” Keith laughs and rolls his eyes. “How would I be?”

“I don’t know,” Shiro replies, resting his elbow on the bar, propping his chin up. “I mean, I was going to bars when I was sixteen—”

“Scandalous,” Keith interrupts.

“So…”

“Shiro,” he rolls the name on his tongue like it’s candy. “You know me. You knew me. Who do you think would I have gone to parties with at the age of 16? All my non-existent friends?”

Keith grins at him and Shiro has to grin back. Shiro drops his gaze and looks around again, then down at the bottle, then back to Keith. His expression is suddenly a little surprised.

“Who did you come here with again?”

Keith doesn’t hesitate to reply. It has been only a month since then.

“The MFE fighters asked me to come with them.”

“Ah,” he nods. A few seconds go by and Shiro can’t hide the grin in his face anymore. Before Keith can ask about it, Shiro spills it.

“Did they tell you that this is a gay bar?”

Keith’s heart stops for a second, a cold shudder running down his spine. As he goes through five stages of feeling caught in the act, he opens his mouth and closes it again, probably looking like a brainless underwater blob.

He doesn’t mean to make it sound defensive. “T-this is not a gay bar,” he stammers, truly thinking that that’s not the case and likewise convinced that Shiro must have gotten something wrong. “I mean, the MFE fighters aren’t all—” He’s not putting it in words, furrowing his brows instead. “I danced with James, too,” he adds with emphasis, because there’s no way that James of all people is interested in guys either. His palms are getting increasingly sweaty.

Shiro doesn’t seem to notice his distress because he’s not looking at him. His eyes are fixed on someone else. Keith follows his gaze and instantly knows why. When he realizes why, all his compassion flies out the window.

As if on cue, Shiro must have spotted James in the crowd of dancing people, currently grinding against another guy. Their arms are tightly locked around each other as they move to the pulsing beat. Keith is pretty sure he can see James nuzzling into the guy’s neck, kissing and biting. He’s pretty sure Shiro sees it too.

“Not like that,” he adds quickly, drawing Shiro’s questioning eyes back to him.

The point where Keith could just stop the waterfall of denial has long passed. Somehow, he still manages to sound even worse, and frankly, a little homophobic on top of it all.

“Just because James is… That doesn’t mean this is a gay bar.” He brushes a few strands of hair behind his ear.

Shiro blinks at him a few times and calmly turns his nunvill-beer a little, showing Keith what looks like a small rainbow flag printed on the bottle. Keith feels defeated and a little ridiculous, bites his lips and nods.

“It’s not like it’s an issue,” Shiro says. When Keith doesn’t answer, Shiro doesn’t let the silence linger for long. “I mean, I kind of belong here after all,” he jokes and Keith breaks into a smile, too. Leave it to Shiro to make him feel less embarrassed about his lack of perception.

Shiro must think that he’s either really blind – because now that he's mentioned it, Keith notices a surprisingly high number of two women or two men making out on the dance floor or in little corners of the club and, how the fuck could he miss that – or that he just doesn’t care. They're both fine, even though they're quite the opposites.

Keith might be oblivious to gay couples because at this point, he just doesn’t expect them to stand around just about anywhere. He didn’t see them very often growing up, and as a teenager he already accepted the fact that there aren’t many people like him. Expect when one day, he met Shiro.

It’s not a secret, but it’s also not out there in the open for anyone to know. There’s one exact reason why Keith has never told a soul about it. Not even Hunk. It’s because the second anyone knows and realizes that women simply don’t interest him, Keith is afraid they will turn their gaze to Shiro. There’s nothing to shield him from everyone knowing about his feelings to Shiro except for his supposed straightness.

Sometimes he wants to admit it. Crack a joke. Just slowly let it all out, when he’s with Shiro.

“Me too,” he says, boldness pushing the words out. “I _kind_ of belong here, too.”

It’s said and done, he thinks. He’s out.

Shiro nods and smiles, not getting completely what Keith tries to convey. He casually clinks his bottle against Keith’s. “You were the reason why we were allowed in here after all.”

He says it so unconcernedly that Keith doesn’t directly grasp the full meaning. Then it hits him, right in the face.

“Ah. Yes. Because I’m half-Galran.”

Shiro hums instead of replying and takes another sip from his bottle.

Keith’s heart sinks. Although the words let relief wash over him, he feels disappointed in himself that he’s unable to correct Shiro on the spot.

They drink until they are ready to abandon their half-emptied bottles, then move to dance a little, far away from James, who has gone straight to third base with the guy from earlier right there on the dance floor. Shiro throws Keith a little grin, gives a little raise of his eyebrow, and Keith has to shake his head in return, a coy smile appearing on his face.

The dancing is awkward at first. Keith knows he’s not a good dancer. Luckily, it turns out that Shiro doesn’t seem to be either. He laughs as he moves just as awkwardly, but he looks happy nonetheless. For Keith, it feels like an out-of-body-experience to see him dance; uncertain movements aside, Shiro looks good no matter what he does. The loud beat and the bass line of the music drown out everything else. They just look at each other, smile and continue dancing, then trying something new like Keith taking his hand so Shiro can show off an unskilled pirouette and vice-versa.

They don’t stay as late as Keith did with the MFE Fighters the last time. Keith is happy nunvill doesn’t tend to make him as quickly drunk as his human counterparts. Shiro only wears a faint blush on his cheeks but is talking and walking normally on their way home.

“Thanks for bringing me,” Shiro says as they wander in the darkness under the starry sky, air cold and hearts warm.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Keith tells him. “Even though it was a gay club and everything.”

Shiro chuckles. His laugh is deep and full of warmth. Keith can’t remember the last time that Shiro was so carefree and relaxed; a small part of him hopes it’s because of him.

“Yeah,” Shiro says breathily.

They walk the rest in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Shiro guides them to Keith’s room first to say his goodbye, watching as Keith slides his key card and the door opens with a gentle swoosh. He turns back to face Shiro. It feels a little silly, how they stand there waiting for a cue to say goodbye, as if they didn't see each other day in and day out on the Castle of Lions, and then on the _Atlas_ for a few years, never needing to say goodbye when they knew they would see each other again the next day.

Tonight is different.

There’s something in the air, something unspoken, a turn, a twist, Keith can’t put his finger on it—

“I had fun today,” Shiro says. The statement is so simple, and yet it holds weight. At least Keith thinks it does. Shiro’s expression holds some seriousness within, although the small smile never left his face.

“Me too.” Keith’s heart is jittery and he’s unable to bring himself to smile as carefree as before. His heart is drumming in his chest, unrelentless. He knows it too well, his enduring, painful, smitten heart. The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “We could do that again sometime.”

Saying something like that, so different from their usual conversation, feels like the invisible barrier between them is torn apart – it’s so painfully clear how it sounds and yet Keith hopes Shiro is too dense to understand this time, too. Shiro's eyes have snapped up to look at him. He holds Keith’s gaze. Keith rarely sees him so vulnerable, so open and tentative, so unsure of what to say.

“I’d love to,” Shiro tells him, and Keith takes a deep breath. His heart sincerely needs a break soon before Keith actually dies of a heart attack on the spot.

Shiro takes a step forward, startling him, but he can’t run away now. This might be it. It might be realization hitting Shiro. Maybe Keith didn’t read the signs wrong. His heartbeat becomes rapid-fire in his chest and heat spreads through his body. Maybe, just maybe, he can hope a little for once.

He closes his eyes in an instant, tilts his chin up and—

Returns the friendly hug.

“Good night, Keith,” Shiro says.

And then he’s gone.

*

Work is busy, but Shiro drops by whenever he wants to have a quick chat, to show Keith a cat video or to ask him to eat lunch together. Maybe Keith is imagining things, and after all, Shiro seeking to be close to him is rare but not _that_ rare. Still, it feels a little different from before.

Shiro wears that gentle gaze as often as his expression of vulnerable uncertainty. It’s blatantly obvious to Keith what Shiro feels; but not as easy to understand the meaning. All his life, he learned well enough not to hope.

Keith likes what becomes of their friendship, because sometimes there’s still the fear of not being seen as equal to Shiro. Despite his fear, Shiro never makes him feel like that. He addresses Keith in meetings, asking for his opinion on decisions he doesn’t want to come to on his own.

It’s a quiet noon on a Thursday when they sit down on the small green spot behind the building with the Paladin’s offices. The whole afternoon has yet to come, which means endless phone calls for Shiro and training the cadets to fly in the simulator for Keith.

Shiro lies down on the grass after he pushes the cafeteria tablets out of the way; he closes his eyes and rubs his stomach. “I think I gained weight.”

Keith’s eyes wander over his body up to his torso and then back to his stomach. He laughs a little. “Where, Shiro? Should I take my magnifier out and look?”

Shiro chuckles with his eyes still closed. “Don’t flatter me.”

“I’m not. You’re fine.” Keith takes his cup with iced tea and raises it to his lips. Fall is coming soon, but the temperatures hardly died down. A swift breeze blows over the buildings to the wide and vast desert, playfully brushing through Keith’s hair. He may need to give it a cut soon.

Like a magnet, his eyes are drawn back from their surroundings to Shiro, who looks peaceful on the grass. His mouth is closed in a relaxed and slightly downward curve and his hair is a little tangled in the wind.

He’s beautiful. Keith feels a painful throb in his heart.

He looks away again and after a few minutes of comfortable silence, he hears the beginning of subtle snoring. It’s cute; Keith can’t help but feeling a little endeared. With a dull thump, he lies back on the grass too and turns his hip and upper body to face Shiro.

“Are you asleep?” He mumbles the question in case Shiro _is_ sleeping. He might be, because he doesn’t answer.

When he looks down on Shiro, observing him looking so calm and soft, he feels his heart throb. His heart, his painful heart. Keith reaches out to touch him, to give his heart some rest. Shiro is so close, but he has been nothing but unclear with him.

Keith reflects a few things: That he needs to hold onto the feeling that people can love him. His father did, his mother does. Even Shiro loves him in one way or another. Keith knows from the emotion in his eyes, the sometimes guarded and then unguarded looks. That Shiro leans closer when they are standing together, that he squeezes Keith's shoulder and lingers in the touch.

Then, there’s hope in many things, and that he doesn’t need to give himself up.

*

On Friday afternoon, Shiro shoots him a message and asks if Keith wants to go out together. A few hours later he stands in front of Keith’s room freshly showered and dressed.

“Ah,” he says, surprised as Keith appears in the doorframe. “It looks good,” he adds with a shy smile. For a split-second Keith forgot that he went to get his hair cut in the afternoon. He brushes through the short fuzz on the back of his head a little self-consciously. The undercut has been a rash choice, a bravery as a placeholder for all his not-so-brave things. Even though it wasn’t his choice completely; the guy at the salon was just eager to try out on him.

Keith can’t help the warmth blooming in his chest. “You do, too.” Even if it turns out to be a vain attempt one day, the days where Keith tried to hide it are over. He just feels things. It’s fine.

“How have I never noticed that you’re such a flatterer?” Shiro asks and smiles, not taking the compliment seriously. “Let’s go?”

They consider taking a hoverbike to the club, but Keith is the responsible one, opting against it because it would mean one of them would have to be the designated driver. Neither of them is up for taking a cab to the club and wasting the little money it costs. They decide to take one back later or maybe hitch a hike with the MFE Fighters if they are at the club, too.

Aside from the pragmatic thinking, it feels a little like a date, or at least what Keith imagines one would be like. Given, when he was a teenager his understanding of a date was ‘going to the desert on a hoverbike with the guy you like’. His crush couldn’t have been less obvious back then either.

Maybe thinking of this as a date is just another sign that it doesn’t matter what they do together. Maybe it’s because Shiro dressed better than he did last time and looks so good it makes Keith’s palms sweaty. Maybe it’s because he compliments Keith on his new hairstyle again; the undercut with his black silky hair longer on the top. Maybe. Keith thinks, he’s allowed to hope and thanks Shiro and walks closer.

When they arrive, they sit down at the bar first again and order the same drinks as last time.

“You’re addicted.” Keith watches as Shiro takes a remorseful sip from his bottle. “I can’t believe it.”

“It’s a guilty pleasure,” Shiro corrects him, looking bashful first, but then adds, “And I feel extremely guilty of it.”

“Maybe you just have different taste buds than I do.” Keith’s grin is vibrant and Shiro can’t help but laugh. He leans closer, propping his chin up.

“You really think that, hm?”

Keith stares down at his face, at loss for words. Is he flirting? Are they flirting? There clearly is something different in the way Shiro started looking at him, the way he lost his cautiousness around him and at the same time seems to snap back to it from time to time.

“I think that, yeah,” Keith breathes, lost in the endless downwards spiral of his feelings for Shiro. Shiro looking at him, giving him the daring smile that makes him look as young and brash as he did at 22 years old, makes Keith positively shiver.

There’s a daring response to that daring statement, but as Shiro opens his mouth to say it, a guy slides into Keith’s view, making them both startle out of their own little world.

“Hey.” The guy suddenly coming into view isn’t bad looking per se. He’s hovering over Keith and frankly, his height is intimidating, but he has a gentle face. Keith tries to remember if he’s ever seen someone like him, but with the melting pot the Earth has become, who comes from where has become a pretty lax issue.

“I’m Ha’rdu.” The name rolls from his tongue in a smooth growl. “I just noticed you coming in here.”

It’s obvious what he wants and yet…Keith doesn’t connect the dots. He is too surprised to react and too torn between _I can’t let this guy keep talking to me when Shiro is right there_ and an unbelieving _this can’t be happening right now_. There’s some hope in him for something else to happen and he leans back a little. Unfortunately, Ha’rdu is blocking his view and he’s unable to make any eye contact with Shiro.

“You’re pretty good looking.”

Keith’s eyes snap back to him, unsure of how to reply. “What do you want?” Keith asks him, not noticing how blunt it sounds. Admittedly, he’s feeling like a caged animal for no real reason; after all, the guy is not doing anything really, only hovering and smiling. He’s taken aback by the harsh words Keith has thrown him and takes a step back. Finally, Keith can see Shiro again. He doesn’t know what he expected, but Shiro's expression leaves little room for interpretation. He looks like he’s sympathetic toward the guy.

“I, uhh—” Har’duk stammers. The former confidence got blown from his face and he looks back and forth between Shiro and Keith.

“Just wanted to ask for a dance,” he says, defeatedly.

The words echo hollow in Keith’s mind. It was kind of obvious, but he still didn’t think that far. “Sorry,” he begins, eyes flickering to Shiro and then back to him. His body is on autopilot when he turns him down. “I’m sorry, I’m with my friend.” Keith feels the heat creep into his cheeks as he nods to Shiro.

Har’duk glares at Shiro now who smiles back at him and waves. It’s almost a bit patronizing, and Keith has to bite a snort back.

When nobody says anything else, Har’duk clears his throat and nods to Keith. “Have a good evening then.”

After he’s gone, Shiro does a pointedly smack with his lips. “Off he goes.” He grins and fiddles with the label of his bottle. Keith observes the movement of his fingers and looks back at his face. Shiro doesn’t seem surprised at all.

“Did that really just happen?” Keith lets out an audible exhale.

The white fluff of hair moves up as Shiro raises his head and bobs when he cocks it to the side.

“Don’t tell me that’s new to you,” Shiro smiles. Then adds, on an afterthought, “Or is it because he’s a guy?”

“No.” Keith snaps his eyes away. Embarrassment flares up in him. “No. It just never happened to _me_.”

Shiro glances over him. His eyes aren’t subtle in the ways they trace his face. He breaks into a smile.

“That’s frankly hard to believe.”

Keith can’t tell if Shiro’s teasing him or if he’s serious, but he shakes his head in earnest.

“Really, it's never happened before,” he relents and takes a sip of the beer.

He feels Shiro hesitating next to him; he clears his throat then and stops fiddling.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Shiro says, in his most sincere and calm voice. He doesn’t elaborate, but he also doesn’t have to. Keith’s cheeks flare up on his own.

The silence stretches between them, but with the music in the background it doesn’t become awkward. Keith takes a deep sip, takes another breath, takes his heart in his hands, wringing it out for another round.

“Do you want to dance?” he asks him and breaks Shiro out of his thoughts. 

He had idly looked at his bottle, but now his eyes are wandering from the wrinkled label to the dance floor, and from there back to Keith again. As if in an afterthought, he empties the bottle in one big swig, earning a wrinkled nose and a snort from Keith.

Without a word, he gets up and reaches for Keith’s hand. Shiro has always been the light Keith likes to follow, but lately he’s becoming the magnet that pulls him closer all by himself.

Together they push past the swaying bodies, finding a small space for themselves. The heavy drum pulsates in Keith’s ears, and unhurriedly he starts swaying and moving. Shiro does the same, eyes never leave Keith’s.

It’s different from last time.

The lights stain the white of his hair in every color; Keith almost forgets that normally, it feels awkward to move his body in this way. He’s used to running, sparring, fighting. There hasn’t been a time where he ever thought he needed to look different. Appealing.

All of a sudden, the dance area is crowded with other people, too. Some knock their multiple elbows against Keith. As to not get crushed in the middle of it all, he moves closer to Shiro, who also takes a step forward. He pushes another person out of the way with a gentle nudge and smiles down at him.

The song changes to the next one and Shiro simply shrugs and stays still, gesturing that he doesn’t know the tune. Keith laughs and shrugs too but keeps his feet in motion. He extends a hand to Shiro to get him back to dancing; Shiro takes it and laughs.

“Everyone feeling good tonight?” The playful dance is interrupted by a loud voice rasping into a microphone. The music stops, too.

“We have a special request from _Nurun_. Get ready and excited for a boring old song her earthen girlfriend likes. Enjoy, everyone.” The voice is fatigued, coming from a bodiless Kro’weksulider currently floating in front of the DJ booth.

It takes a minute until the music starts playing again, but the majority already left the dance floor to sit somewhere at the bar or at the tables a few steps away. Keith and Shiro remain, bashfully grinning at each other, raising eyebrows and waiting for something to happen.

With the first few notes and words of the songs, realization dawns in Shiro’s gaze. Keith recognizes it, too.

“That’s really an old song,” Keith remarks and laughs again; eyes widening a little when Shiro extends his arm to him and bends his knees in an exaggerated curtsy.

“Remember?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Keith’s voice is soft, as he reaches for Shiro’s hand and takes it in a firm grasp as he gets pulled closer. “The evening before Kerberos.”

_A long long time ago_

_I can still remember how_

_  
That music used to make me smile_

The melodic words are accompanied with a softer light, too. Warm red-orange shines down on them, changing the atmosphere of the whole club.

When Keith blinks, it’s as if he’s back at the Kerberos Launch Party.

Shiro has put his hands a little above his hips and Keith in return has looped his arms around his neck. He props his face into the crook of his neck, looking in front of him, seeing everything and nothing at all.

The room is dipped in red light, spreading his warmth everywhere. A memory dipped in red, in warmth, in sweaty bodies and a hot summer resurfaces all on its own. Drunk pilots, students, Shiro’s friends, a room full of people who celebrate a heartbreak that for Keith has yet to come.

Keith blinks, and he swears it’s as if he travelled back to that day, back to that evening, back to those feelings.

With every slow beat of the music, they sway from one side to another just like they did that evening. Keith is not the only one who remembers.

“Do you remember how you asked me to dance?” Shiro mutters into his ear.

Keith feels shudders running down his spine, forgetting himself over Shiro’s breath and low voice.

“Did I?” he mutters back, knees weak. He can’t remember, really. Was he that bold back then?

Shiro chuckles into the crook of his neck. It’s doing things to Keith.

“You did.”

The song is simple, a bop. There's nothing particularly special about it; but the melody clings to Keith’s memories, gently nudging at the edges of his mind.

_Something touched me deep inside_

"I remember telling you to come back.”

Shiro hums in return, presses a little closer. Keith wonders if his eyes are closed as they move together. He takes a small breath, not wanting to sound it accusatory. The disco light turns to a cold blue.

“But you didn’t.”

_The day _

_the _

_music _

_died_

Shiro is quiet for a few moments before he squeezes him in a tight hug.

“I know. Sorry.”

Keith rapidly shakes his head, his chuckle coming out as a whimper. “No, no. Don’t be.”

Shiro squeezes him again. Their bodies are so close. He’s sure he can hear the steady heartbeat in Shiro’s chest, calming his own.

“You were always there, waiting for me.”

It’s so much. Shiro’s scent hits his nostrils, the faint note of a natural aftershave blending in with the salty sweat that somehow makes him smell even better.

“Each and every time,” Shiro adds. “Until the end.”

Keith chokes on a sob, feeling too weak to hug him back.

_And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey and rye_

“Sometimes I didn’t know why I should, you know. Live on.”

They never talked about this before. Only cut into the topic and instantly pulled the knife back out, when a fresh wound opened next to all the old ones. Shiro’s voice is low and vulnerable, and it makes it all so much harder to breathe.

“I know.”

Keith’s eyes focus on a point on the other side on the wall. There’s nothing to see there, just the blank brick wall, but it’s easier to speak like this, while they do not face each other.

“It helped, knowing you were there waiting for me.”

“Shiro,” Keith mumbles, nose nuzzling into his side. He stops caring about overstepping.

“I’m thankful,” Shiro tells him. Keith loves the way his throaty voice rumbles next to him. It makes him feel things. “I can’t believe we’re both here. And it’s all over now.”

“Can you believe how many things had yet to come back when we were at the party?”

“I can’t. I can’t believe it at all.”

Shiro’s voice turned from unstable into the sweetest whisper, the depth of it unfolds something in Keith’s stomach.

“But you’re here. We’re here,” Keith reminds them both and leans further into Shiro. He welcomes him closer, sighing into the crook of his neck again, a content noise.

They sway like this, with the only other couple being the alien and her girlfriend who wanted to listen to the song in the first place. Both so lost, as if they are levitating instead of dancing.

Keith closes his eyes too, taking in the memories and the music, the feeling of Shiro just being there, here with him, and the feeling of the thought of them both being alive.

“Do you remember,” Shiro turns his head slightly, the brush of his scratchy stubbles tickling Keith’s cheek. “How awful it sounded when we sang along?”

_Singin'_

_ this'll be the day _

_that I die_

_This'll be the day_

_ that _

_I _

_die_

_*_

They opt against a taxi again – the next day is a Saturday, so they don’t see the need to get back early and waste money when they can walk back in a relaxed pace.

Shiro buys two bottles of nunvill-beer on their way out. Keith’s look says more than a thousand words, but he still takes one beer from him.

The cold night swallows them both, lunging at their clothes and radiating warmth, taking it quickly. The beer and the walking help with the temperature, the lifted weight helps Keith’s heart. Instead of asking, he simply takes Shiro’s hand.

It’s good, it’s all good.

He’s not afraid.

Shiro doesn’t comment on it, but it’s not awkward. They drink their beer, they watch the stars, they saunter through the night. The darkness takes the warmth, but Shiro, the sun, his light, the stars and the universe, all in one person, he gives it all back to Keith.

As they come closer to the base, Shiro’s steps falter, and Keith slows down to match his pace.

Their steps echo in the empty grey hallway; they take two rights and end up in front of Keith’s door.

“Here we are.” His tone is light as Shiro looks at Keith. Keith’s heart currently runs a thousand miles per second, flying over his head and leaves Earth – the anticipation is killing him; he’s sure he’s not imagining things.

But he feels Shiro pulling back before he does, and panic drowns him. Shiro pulls back, when he was in reach, when Keith had him, when he thought they could—

“Keith,” he addresses him directly, putting a stop to Keith’s frantic trail of thought. He catches himself holding his breath and exhales.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Shiro says.

Instead of responding , Keith snaps his head down in a sharp nod. He doesn’t trust his voice to do the job, but Shiro doesn’t mind, gets the clue, and nods too.

“It’s been on my mind for a while.”

He raises his head and meets Keith’s gaze head on, determined. Stubborn. Endearing, Keith thinks. Shiro’s careful with his words, tantalizing Keith.

“It’s not just me,” he tests the words. “Right?”

Keith exhales a breath of relief, taking two steps forward.

“No,” he breathes, hands on both of Shiro’s shoulders. “It’s not just you.”

Keith tips upward, quicker and readier than Shiro is, but Shiro pulls him close, sways him in his arms.

“I thought—” Shiro starts but stops at the sight of Keith shaking his head.

“I know.” Keith’s breath hitches and he snaps his eyes shut when he says, “I love you, Shiro.”

Shiro’s breath hitches, but it turns into a less surprised hum as the realization quietly washes over him. For a second, he’s speechless, but then his mouth turns into a gentle smile. “Yeah, Keith. You always have.”

Keith doesn’t reply, but it’s enough of an answer. Shiro pulls him closer, drops his head against Keith’s to nuzzle into his hair. There’s no question that they both feel the alcohol in their blood, but Keith realizes in his tipsiness that this is real, not a dream he’s dreaming as he’s lying in bed.

“I love you,” Shiro mutters softly in his hair and kisses it. “It’s been getting harder to hide these days.”

“You didn’t have to hide it,” Keith reassured, stroking over Shiro’s sleeve, mesmerized by the warm muscles beneath. Shiro chuckles a little.

“Yeah. Now I know.”

The soft kiss he gives Keith the moment he looks up is thankfully anticlimactic, but Keith is happy that in this moment his heart is giving him some rest and lets him enjoy the drowsy feeling of Shiro’s lips on his.

The numbing press of Shiro’s mouth against him carries Keith into another night, into another universe, and a little back to the Kerberos Party that night, when he looked at a younger but not as confident Shiro, thinking how easy it would have been to pull him into a kiss. Just once, Keith wanted to taste the devastation of the love he felt for him. 

Shiro breaks the kiss, giving Keith room and air to breathe.

But Keith chases after him again, pressing kisses again and again. He knows his uncertainty shows, but Shiro doesn’t comment on it, welcomes those kisses and presses back just as eagerly.

“I don’t think I can sleep tonight,” Keith says.

Shiro chuckles lowly. “Me neither.”

“Let’s go to the roof?” Keith suggests, fiddling with Shiro’s hand.

“To watch the stars?” Shiro laughs again, just as low. “Yeah.”

As they walk up to the roof, hands clasped and chuckling, joking how they hope Iverson won’t show up to shout at them, Keith thinks of the night before the Kerberos launch, remembers how they run up the stairs and laughed just as freely.

This time, Shiro doesn’t leave the day after.

And if he ever does leave, Keith will leave with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to recommend this fic to others, feel free to link or retweet this [Tweet](https://twitter.com/CruelisB/status/1177010093034016768?s=19)!
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